


runaway

by jdphoenix



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death Fix, F/M, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-03-06 08:17:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13407171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdphoenix/pseuds/jdphoenix
Summary: There have been several moments in Jemma’s life that seemed to be, at first glance, impossible. But no matter how many times she glances and stares and downright glowers at this particular moment, it refuses to make sense.“What?” Ward—Grant Ward, supposed to be dead Ward—asks, precisely echoing her thoughts.





	runaway

Heavy footsteps sound, echoing off the bathroom tiles. A stall door or two opens.

“All right,” Coulson says, obviously relieved to find himself alone. Not that it should be much of a surprise given the Out Of Order signs posted on this bank of bathrooms. “We’re clear. Go ahead.”

The voice over the phone is too soft to be heard and only Coulson’s occasional hums of understanding give any sign the conversation is still ongoing. He paces the length of the room while he listens, his booted feet falling more quietly now that he feels secure.

After nearly a minute of this he taps his fist against one of the stall doors. This one opens outward and the entire false wall shakes loudly, drowning out half his question. “You sure you can handle all of that?” Whatever is said in response, there’s a fatherly fondness in his tone when he says, “Fine, fine. I know. Just be careful out there, all right? I’d hate to lose you – again.”

The hesitation is barely noticeable except that his voice sounds even more clearly on the last word. He meets Jemma’s eyes in the mirror, the one in the women’s bathroom. Apparently he didn’t realize these bathrooms were closed due to Joey accidentally melting some of the pipes and causing, among other things, a massive hole to form in the wall at the back of the men’s handicap stall.

Coulson pockets his phone before stepping through said hole and into the women’s stall on the other side. “Simmons.”

“Sir,” she says, finally turning to face him. She pastes on a smile and pretends her eyes aren’t red and her cheeks aren’t pale. Not that she’s been crying, just … thinking about it.

She worries he might be in a fatherly enough mood after that call to try comforting her, but he only says, “You heard all that, huh?”

“Unfortunately. Bobbi and Hunter getting into trouble?”

He freezes and very slowly the ghost of a smile appears in his eyes. “Yes,” he says. “Bobbi and Hunter.”

“I understand why you wouldn’t want anyone to know—they are on their own out there these days—but it’s not as though they’re _fugitives_ or _enemies of SHIELD_. There’s no shame at all in talking to them.”

He nods, pleased that they’ve come to an understanding. She’s second only to Director Mace these days and the regular lie detector tests mean if she were to discover Coulson carrying on secret communications with, say, the criminal known as Quake, she would have to relate that information immediately—or at her next interrogation. But if he’s only talking to two former SHIELD agents who the agency was forced to disavow through no fault of their own… Well, there’s no reason anyone should know about that. In fact a good agent would hide such a fact as long as possible.

Coulson’s expression turns to something much more familiar, the kind of pitying look she’s been receiving near constantly the last year. “You’re not mad?”

She is, a little. Mad that she can’t help her friend. Mad that Mace is so damned controlling. Mad that Daisy’s gone to such extremes. (Not that Jemma doesn’t understand. She can’t empathize with the pain having been swayed must still be causing Daisy, but the broken heart would be enough to turn anyone away from SHIELD. Sometimes Jemma has to remind herself why it hasn’t sent her packing as well.)

“No,” she says. “Of course not. You _should_ help them. We owe it to them after … everything.” She tries not to but, same as they did before she fled into the one bathroom on base she was sure would be unoccupied, memories of that horrible day rise up. Lincoln’s voice over the radio saying his last goodbye. And, worse, Hive’s voice in the background, one final reminder to Jemma that none of it would have happened if not for her.

Coulson’s hand rests at her back, a silent support.

“If you- if _they_ ever need anything,” she says.

“I know who to ask.”

Even though she wants Daisy safe and secure out there, she hopes Coulson does come to her. It might assuage some of her guilt.

 

 

\-----

 

 

There have been several moments in Jemma’s life that seemed to be, at first glance, impossible. But no matter how many times she glances and stares and downright glowers at this particular moment, it refuses to make sense.

“What?” Ward—Grant Ward, supposed to be _dead_ Ward—asks, precisely echoing her thoughts.

Agent Blake, also somehow alive and well despite the spine-shattering injuries he’d suffered when last she saw him, stares with just as much disbelief as Jemma does. “Jemma Simmons,” he says, gesturing to her, still bound and gagged as she has been for several hours now, “is your _wife_?”

“Yeah. Which is why I’m kinda confused about her being tied up.” There’s just enough emphasis on those last two words to make some of the men nearby—the ones who had the most to do with her current predicament—flinch.

“She was with Coulson’s team.”

“What?” Ward spins, gentle hands touching her hair, her face, pulling the cloth gag from her mouth. “Did they find the safe house, sweetheart?”

A pinch to her arm tells her there’s only one acceptable answer—and lets her know that she isn’t dreaming, he really is here. “Yes,” she croaks, then spits out the saliva that’s gathered in her mouth; she doesn’t dare swallow down anything that touched that gag.

“Fitz.” He shakes his head, half-turning to Blake. “He never understood why she didn’t want anything to do with SHIELD anymore after all this Inhuman shit started. Or with him after I came back in the picture. Coulson’s smart enough to let her go but Fitz…” He hisses in a breath.

She should probably be incensed at the lies he’s telling—about her _and_ about Fitz—but she’s distracted by his hand, moving from her hair to her shoulder, giving her a supportive squeeze.

There was a time, not so long ago in the grand scheme of things, when she cherished every accidental and awkward brush of Ward’s hands against her skin. The press along her spine to shield her from enemy fire, fingers holding her chin so he could check her bruised cheek, his forearm crossing hers while they shared kitchen duty every second Wednesday. Each and every one was a precious gift that fueled her pathetic crush. So she knows Ward’s hands.

This is really him.

“And yet you never mentioned,” Blake says.

“Come on. You know me. You think I was gonna risk one of your guys getting taken in and selling out my girl for their freedom? You know how much Coulson and all the rest of them hate me.”

“I do know.” There’s a weight to Blake’s words that has Ward’s hand tightening on her shoulder.

“I thought we’d moved past that.”

Jemma has to choke back a laugh. Ward said those exact same words to her the last time they met. Luckily it turns into a real cough thanks to the yelling she did earlier and no one notices anything amiss.

“Did we?” Blake asks. It seems that he, like Jemma, escaped Ward’s betrayal with minimal harm—and how he accomplished that, she really would like to discover, given how dire his condition was prior to the uprising—but that doesn’t make the sting any less. “You think I’ll ever be able to move past what Deathlok did to me?”

“You ordered me dropped out of a plane,” Jemma says, shocking both men.

Blake recovers first. “You were carrying an alien disease.”

“One which nearly killed me. And W- Grant was influenced by the berserker staff _and_ enslaved by Lorelei. Inhumans’ are human beings, just like everyone else, except that they carry that little bit of alien DNA. Enough to change them completely.” She sneers. “Do you honestly think there is anyone who understands the danger they pose better than the two of us?”

She worries, in the silence that meets her speech, that she’s made a misstep, overestimated Blake’s fanaticism.

“Let her go.”

Ward pulls out a knife before any of the others can get near her, using it to cut at the duct tape holding her to the chair. Unfortunately, Blake isn’t done with them.

“I never would’ve thought,” he muses, “that you would leave SHIELD. Or Agent Fitz.”

She flinches at the implication. She doesn’t know why, she hears similar comments quite often. Well-meaning words meant to encourage her to finally take their relationship to the next level. They don’t understand what could be holding her back.

Ward stills, his grip firm but gentle on her arm, the knife frozen to minimize the chances of nicking her if she moves again.

“But I suppose that’s what these dark times have done to us all. I hope, Ward, now that we have everything out in the open, you won’t be hiding a resource like Simmons anymore.”

In the shadowed space between them, Ward lifts his eyes to hers.

“Ward,” she says. “I use ‘Ward’ now.”

“Of course. We’ll talk again soon, Dr. Ward.” And Blake flickers out, like a lightbulb going dim. Or a hologram.

She considers the implications of that while Ward frees her and rubs some feeling back into her extremities. Perhaps Blake didn’t come away from his encounter with Deathlok as well as it appeared he did. He might even have become what they thought Mr. Nash was: a physically confined man orchestrating a massive international conspiracy.

She itches to get back to the team, to inform them of this development. A former SHIELD agent with a grudge forming his own private militia is far worse than a few trigger happy civilians riling each other up on social media.

The communication device is boxed up by several of the men and it quickly becomes clear they’re leaving. Jemma and Ward included.

He wraps an arm around her shoulders, keeping her close while they file out. Much as she’d rather make her way alone, she needs the support—her legs are numb after hours in that chair and her head is swimming more than she’s comfortable with.

“A little privacy?” he asks when a man in body armor tries to climb into the back of the pickup truck she’s being handed into. And just like that they’re alone with what appears to be a load of very illegal weapons.

“Man, I thought we were fucked,” he breathes as he pulls out along with everyone else.

“ _What?_ ” Jemma demands, finally getting to ask the question that’s been at the front of her mind ever since he walked into that room.

He shoots her a sidelong glance. “What?”

“What are you doing here?”

He opens his hands on the wheel as if to say it’s obvious. “Saving you from the Watchdogs?”

“I meant what are you doing here, _alive_? You’re supposed to be dead!”

“Yeah,” he says, “and you knew I wasn’t.”

“I knew no such thing!” Aware she’s beginning to sound shrill—and that the other cars traveling with them on this road are full of the enemy—she forces a calmer tone. “Coulson told us he killed you after you shot Rosalind Price.”

“Only what he really did was give me one last chance to turn it around.” He shrugs while turning right where all the cars ahead of them turned left. She hopes for a brief second that they’re getting away, but the bright lights still behind them prove this was a planned break. “I took it.”

She scoffs at the very idea of Ward ever sincerely choosing to do the right thing. (She ignores that he saved her life just a few minutes earlier. There must have been some benefit to him in it, even if she can’t see one just yet.)

“Why is this news?” he asks. “Coulson said you knew everything.”

As if she would ever believe Coulson would take part in something like this. Perhaps this isn’t Ward at all. He might be some sort of an impostor. Or perhaps he was exposed to some terrigen prior to his death and this is the result. Of bloody course Grant Ward would get immortality.

“He said you’d even offered to help if I ever needed it.”

If she detects a hint of hurt in Ward’s voice, it must be artifice on his part. This entire thing can only be one big con because there is no way she would ever-

“Oh bloody hell,” she breathes, suddenly remembering that conversation with Coulson back in the lavatory. She bends forward, dropping her head into her hands.

“Are you okay?” The car shudders, straightening out while Ward’s hand comes to settle on her back. “Simmons?”

“I thought he was talking to Daisy.”

“Oh.” His hand slides away. “Well that sucks.”

She sits up, allowing her tired body to go limp against the back of the seat. “Assuming I believe you-” and she is very afraid that she might be beginning to- “what is your mission here?”

“Use my Hydra connections to spy on the Watchdogs and funnel information back to Coulson. Pretty simple.”

“Is that why you told them you were married? To explain the private calls and time away?”

He takes another turn, this time leaving only two other cars with them. “Nope. I’m not strictly working with the Watchdogs, I just provide my services when they need it.”

Her head snaps around so sharply she hears a crack in her neck. “Then why did you tell them I was your wife?” she demands while rubbing at the sore spot.

“Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Of all the idiotic things… She wishes she’d killed him when she had the chance. “So do you have a meeting set with Coulson after this? Your friends’ hospitality left a lot to be desired, I’d like a shower and a very long sleep in my own bed.”

He makes a strange ticking noise with his tongue. “About that. Coulson said you were pretending he was helping Hunter and Morse because of some lie detector tests?”

“Well, yes. So long as he didn’t outright _tell me_ who he was helping I wouldn’t be lying.”

“Right. But now you know.”

A sinking feeling drags at her stomach. “What are you getting at, Ward?”

“You’re not gonna be able to pass those tests anymore and I’m gonna need you with me or Blake’ll start to get suspicious. Especially if any of his people see you with SHIELD. We’re lucky Coulson’s had you keeping a low profile ever since Whitehall put that price on your head.”

That’s not strictly true. She was confined to base outside of high importance missions for the months after her undercover assignment ended, but that stopped after Whitehall’s death. It was her time on Maveth that really kept her out of the field. There was her recovery and then Hive… Just the thought of facing him still turns her lungs to ice.

She pushes those thoughts aside, focuses on the matter at hand. “I’m not staying with you.”

“You kinda don’t have a choice. Sweetheart.”

“You forget, _darling_ , I don’t care if Blake kills you. I’ll load the gun myself if he likes. And as for the lie detector tests-” She was going to say that she no longer has to take them, but even her threats against Mace likely won’t protect her when she’s been in the heart of the Watchdogs’ operation for so long. A lie detector will be required to ensure she hasn’t been compromised in any way. “It doesn’t matter,” she says firmly while behind them the last of the cars turns off. It’s just the two of them on a dark country road. “What do I care if SHIELD discovers you’re alive? That’s just more likelihood of you getting your comeuppance.”

“Except then you also expose Coulson.”

“Who _lied_ to _all of us_.” To protect _Ward_. Ugh.

“Come on.”

She looks askance at him, ready to be unmoved by his cajoling.

“Where’s the Simmons who wanted so badly to go into the field?”

“This is hardly the same thing.” Undercover with a man she hates? As his _wife_? She’d rather be back in Hydra.

“Can you honestly tell me you’ll have more fun if you go back to base? Debriefs. Fallout from the whole Coulson thing. What’ll Fitz think? And May? And with Skye still running around as some vigilante, the team might never recover.”

He doesn’t even have the decency to hide his attempts to manipulate her. And while it’s working, it’s at least not in the way he means it to.

He mentioned Fitz first. The same as everyone always does with her. They don’t understand that it’s _because_ she cares for Fitz that she keeps her distance. She might have loved him that way once, but that was before Maveth and Will and Hive. The man she loved never truly came back to her, only a monster wearing his face. No one understands what that was like, seeing all her hopes twisted into weapons by the same creature who stole Will from her.

She thinks about opening her heart to Fitz now and feels the doors of it creak to a halt, fear like rust in the hinges. She can’t go through that kind of pain again. She _won’t_.

Ward is right, though he doesn’t know why. It _would_ be more fun out here with him than back at base with the fallout and the awkwardness she doesn’t know how to explain without crying like a child.

“You can only kiss me on the mouth once a day and only in front of the Watchdogs.”

“Sounds good.” She curses the grin she can hear in his voice.

“And if we ever have to share a bed, you’re sleeping on the floor.”

“Deal. But only if the temperature’s above thirty.”

“Fine. But you sleep on _top_ of the covers in that case.”

“In between. Still a layer protecting your honor.”

God, he’s annoying. She hopes Blake does kill him. “And I want a ring.” She says it more to be troublesome than because she truly feels her cover needs one, but she might as well get something sparkly out of this mess.

He laughs – far too joyously for her taste. “One ring coming up.”

She groans when he spins the wheel towards the nearest town. It’s the middle of the night, well after midnight. She just hopes he plans to steal one from a _store_. She’s not wearing a dead woman’s ring.

 


End file.
